Imaginary Promises
by millennium rod
Summary: The boy had three visitors the night of his initiation. His sister, his "brother," and the voice. Short oneshot.


It started off with a promise, the only one he ever made. The young boy trembled as he lay on his stomach, his entire body consumed by the pain of the events that had taken place mere hours earlier. He tried to keep himself completely still, so maybe the pain would disappear even a little, but his room was so _cold_, and his tiny body couldn't help but respond to it.

He had been lying there for what he assumed had been several hours now, tears falling silently down his face and onto his cold, hard bed. He was so tired, physically and mentally, yet no matter how long he squeezed his eyes shut, he couldn't seem to drift off.

It was his tenth birthday, a day most would celebrate. And, in a sick and twisted way, his family had celebrated. Although, he had been given very little to eat that day, and the only present he had received was a blazingly hot knife to his back, along with scars he would be forced to carry along with him for the rest of his life.

His father had yet to come see him. After he had finished his task earlier that day, he hadn't even bothered to carry the barely conscious boy back to his bed, leaving him on the stone slab that was covered in his blood. His sister had come in for a few moments after he had woken up the first time, gently stroking his forehead and telling him that it would be alright. Even in his dazed state, he had to wonder about the truth of her statement.

Next, his brother had come in. His father had told him repeatedly that he was not his brother, that he was a servant and should only be referred to as such. Yet, in this messed up family, the boy didn't know what to believe anymore. The "servant" acted more like family to him than his own father, after all, so why shouldn't he be called brother?

He had seen the older boy as he stumbled back to bed as well. There, he had been given another twisted present- the scars, still fresh and dripping blood, that covered his face. All so he wouldn't feel so alone in his pain. The boy had acted strong when he had seen it, going so far as to say he liked it, but after he had left the boy alone in his room, the tears had started all over again.

His brother's visit had almost been just as heartbreaking. He had grabbed the smaller boy's hand, letting himself cry for the first time in years. His soft apologies were the only words left hanging in the room. Apologies for not being able to stop this terrible thing that had befallen the closest thing to a brother he had in this small slice of the world they called home. The boy had only been able to lie there silently, pretending as though he were completely asleep.

Then, after he had left, the room had become- and remained- silent. Even the rest of the family seemed to have gone to bed, as he heard no talking between them. He shivered one last time, and tried closing his eyes again. Yet, there was an almost unsettling feeling in his mind, as though he wasn't alone. It almost sounded like laughter, repeating in the very back of his mind, over and over again.

It took what felt like several more hours of lying on that cold, hard bed, listening to nothing but his own, occasional sob, along with the faint laughter, gradually making itself more clear as time dragged on, for the boy to fall into a restless, dreamless sleep. Nut just before he gave in to the darkness completely, he heard one more thing.

_Do you hate this pain?_

"I hate it. I want to sleep, never wake up until it goes away," the boy murmured to himself.

_I can help you._ The boy shivered, and it felt as though there were an invisible set of arms around him. _If you trust, me, I can help you. Just trust me…_

"Anything. I'll do anything, just make it stop," the boy murmured.

That had been the final visit. And somehow, despite his inability to see the stranger, he knew that he would always be there. His little secret, for when things got too hard for him to handle.

And that night, on his tenth birthday, filled with sadness and pain, he wouldn't have it any other way.

Xxx

You know, when I first set out to write this, I wanted to write bronzeshipping. That… didn't really happen. But I still liked how it came out.

Reviews would be appreciated~.


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